IT was perfectly absurd, d**k told himself a dozen times during the days which followed, that a grown man of his experience should punctiliously and solemnly strike from the calendar, one by one, the days which separated him from Sunday. A schoolboy might so behave, but it would have to be a very callow schoolboy. And a schoolboy might sit at his desk and dream away the time that might have been devoted to official correspondence.
A pretty face… ? d**k had admired many. A graciousness of carriage, an inspiring refinement of manner… ? He gave up the attempt to analyse the attraction which Ella Bennett held. All that he knew was, that he was waiting impatiently for Sunday.
When d**k opened the garden gate, he saw the plump figure of philosophical Johnson ensconced cosily in a garden chair.
